First Illness
"You've never had the chicken pox before?" Hermione asked incredulously.
Ron looked up at her, sickly pale and spotted. "No. And before you ask again, I've never been immunized either."
Hermione sputtered, still shocked. She'd known he was sick when he'd floo-called her earlier that day, complaining of a fever that a potion hadn't been able to bring down. She'd only just gotten home from work to find him with chicken pox - the childhood illness that she'd assumed everyone had gone through. How strange that wizards hadn't figured out a way to prevent it, she thought.
"Should I call a Healer?" she asked, trying hard to keep the volume of her voice at a minimum. "Maybe-"
Ron just groaned.
Hermione had done all she could, but simple healing spells were not enough to soothe his discomfort. She leaned over him to kiss his forehead softly, and he seemed to like that, because a small smile stretched his lips. Something beeped from the kitchen, and she remembered the soup she had put on in a desperate attempt to take his mind off of the itching - food always worked miracles for Ron.
When she returned, bringing him a warm bowl of soup, she found that his eyes were closed in sleep. Still, he seemed anything but comfortable. Tension lined his muscles, and there were creases between his eyebrows.
"Oh, my baby," she whispered with a sad smile. It hurt her to see him so sick.
Holding a warm, wet cloth to his forehead, Hermione worked carefully to smooth back the hairs that had gotten stuck to the sheen of sweat that covered his forehead. Muttering to herself about his irresponsibility, she pulled the blanket back up around him, pushing it under his arms and tucking it under his legs.
Their little flat was cold, it seemed, because in spite of her coddling, he was still shivering. Hermione's teeth worried at her bottom lip, but she did nothing more than carefully sit on the sofa where his legs were. She pointed her wand at the small fireplace and whispered some spells - careful not to wake Ron - that would start the fire again. Cradled in her arms was the soup, though Hermione knew it would be cold before he'd awaken.
No matter, she'd wait.
Pulling his legs onto her lap so that she could lean all the way back, Hermione tried to recall what her experience with chicken pox had been. A few days of itching, and she still had a scar on her shoulder to show for that discomfort, but it had been over soon.
He murmured something quietly, and Hermione soothingly shushed him, relaxing into the cushion. A little rest was overdue for her as well. It wouldn't do to risk getting sick due to fatigue.
"You'll be okay," she promised the sleeping Ron. "We'll get you back to full health soon."
Her fingers were still wrapped around the bowl that rested in her lap, just in case he awoke hungry. With that, Hermione joined Ron in slumber, eyes fluttering closed.